


When Mortals Burn Bright

by L_Durven



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26037727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_Durven/pseuds/L_Durven
Summary: Tissaia de Vries takes a special interest in the young Queen of Cintra. Though her country has and will always refuse help from the Chapter, a gift with no strings attached will allow Calanthe to grow into an irresistible force to be reckoned with.Tissaia x Calanthe(Follows timelines a little bit, but obviously not canon and surely a few discrepancies! Major character death because, well, poor Calanthe. ENJOY!)
Relationships: Calanthe Fiona Riannon/Tissaia de Vries
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

Calanthe is fourteen, barely a woman, and she’s now the Queen of Cintra. She’s expected to keep the country afloat, while surviving the court and its resident cut-throats. They’re eager to either manipulate her, or have her killed – whichever they deem easier. If the fresh wound of losing her father is not enough, she is constantly looking over her shoulder for assassins and shadows. Already tired of the throne, exhausted even, the Queen finds her temper is becoming shorter as the months drag on.

A mage and sorceress from the Chapter come to see her at the start of winter solstice. Her predecessors have refused their services for centuries, but it doesn’t stop them from trying each time someone new ascends. And now they are here for her, as they had for her father, as they had for his father before him and so on and so forth. Though she knows they would not hesitate to manipulate her, a mage would never commit treason. They had an uncanny ability to sniff out those who would leave a knife in her back. And everyone knew, statistically, a ruler with a mage had a much longer lifespan than those who did not. Would vying to extend the borders really be that terrible? Would accepting the power from the Chapter ruin her? She’s spent many nights, even before her ascension, contemplating it.

And when they arrive, part of her screams to accept the offer; however, the esteem she still holds for her father and his wisdom – founded or not - holds strong. He had warned her not to accept their offer. Warned her not to trust them. So she accepts their presence and allows the man to drone on, despite already having made her decision.

“Queen Calanthe – our mages are respected, loyal, and extremely gifted. We take our placements _very_ seriously, and would only gift you the best fit for your kingdom.”

“Gift? Gifts tend to be free, or at least free enough to _not_ deplete my coffers and force me to raise taxes.” Calanthe’s eyes slide to the sorceress who stands slightly behind. Though she may act in deference, there is something fierce and proud and powerful about how she presents herself. Calanthe finds herself drawn inexplicably to her.

“We like to use the term _contribution_ ,” the man quips back without hesitation. “So that we may continue to train our gifted students and send them with enough knowledge to be useful immediately.”

“Oh - my mistake. And who would you send?”

“I have several young mages that would be an asset to your kingdom.”

“And you? Do you have any sorceresses that you would choose for me?” Calanthe has barely taken her eyes off the woman, who is watching the exchange with an impassive expression. When addressed, her eyebrow quirks just slightly.

“Hm. There is only one that comes to mind, but she’s not available. She would have either complimented your fire, or caused a complete disaster the first time you two butt heads. I’m not entirely sure which, so perhaps she would not have been the wisest choice.” The man shoots her a scathing look, but she just gives him a slight shrug. _She obviously does not answer entirely to him, then._ Something passes between the two and the woman smiles, a most obviously polite but fake one. Calanthe suspects this woman does it on purpose - possibly to irritate the man with her. “I am sure my colleague has some adequate choices.”

“A strapping young lad to warm my bed, then?” And she decides she likes the sorceress, because her eyes light up in approval at the scathing remark. “I have little difficulty imagining the success of a beautiful woman, armed with talents beyond my comprehension. How efficient it would be to rule indirectly by holding the King’s balls firmly in one hand, while making him believe he put them there in the first place. Barely a spell needed, am I wrong?”

The man goes to answer, but she holds her hand up. She tilts her chin and narrows her eyes. She _cannot_ be seen as weak or stupid.

“Tell me – does it work the other way? Does a woman who falls on her male advisor, legs spread, succumb to such things? Does a whore queen get to keep her throne? Offering me a young mage tells me that you either think me a joke, a simpleton, or simply ripe for the taking. Now. I have a country to run and your time has run out. You’re both dismissed.” And though the man’s face turns red like a tomato, he bows before turning on his heel. The woman’s reaction is quite different. Her lips are drawn tightly and for a moment, when their eyes meet, she allows Calanthe to see a very brief glimpse of both mirth and pride, but then she is gone as well.

She thinks that is the end of it, and part of her regrets not asking the sorceress to stay behind. She seemed amusing. At the same time, she is glad that she did no such thing. Though Stregobor - if she remembers his name correctly - was and will be easy to decline, she is not entirely convinced that her mind wouldn’t be swayed with the other.

It is late in the evening when she returns to her chambers. As she shuts her door and enters the room, she stiffens, then immediately unsheathes her sword. Whirling around, she faces the intruder, ready to strike. _Ah. The sorceress._

“Impressive. Many people lower their guard entirely when they think they're alone.”

“Tissaia de Vries," she mutters, recalling the name that she had asked her guard to repeat to her following their exit. "What would possess you to trespass into my chambers? I could have you drawn and quartered.” She studies the sorceress before sneering. Though she had reacted quickly, she had been surprised and she didn't appreciate it. “Or at least arrested and ransomed. Which is maybe why you people are so bold.” The sorceress raises her eyebrows and offers a small smile.

“Forgive my trespass, your Majesty. I am not here on Chapter business, and to be frank, they would not approve of me doing this, so here I am.” The woman guards herself, and she can respect that, but she doesn’t strike Calanthe as a liar or someone who is just trying to gain power. Calanthe stares at her before deciding to slide her sword back into its scabbard. She pulls it from her hips and starts yanking at buckles. She'll throw the sorceress out as soon as she's done removing her armour.

“I am listening.” The sorceress approaches Calanthe and holds out what looks like a coin.

“An actual gift,” she explains with a small smirk when the Queen doesn’t immediately take it. Calanthe narrows her eyes suspiciously. “I obviously do not need to warn you of the dangers around you. And you already know you will work twice as hard for a fraction of the respect your father garnered. At least he wasn’t a bastard like your grandfather.” The Queen hums at that, but is not offended. Though she had never met him, she had heard the same about him from her own father, nonetheless.

She finally reaches to take the token from Tissaia. As the sorceress takes a step back, hands folding in front of her, the Queen studies the proffered item. It _looks_ like an oren, but it has no face and the edges have markings she doesn’t recognize. It’s made of copper, and is surprisingly cool to the touch.

“I can respect a Queen that bows to no man, and I can understand why you do not wish a mage in your court. If you hold this trinket and are talking to someone who is lying, it will turn warm. Almost unbearably so if they mean you harm.”

“And what do I owe for this gift?”

“Nothing.” Calanthe knows her expression is incredulous. “People like me live for a very long time. Despite this, those with shorter life spans burn brighter than we ever will. Sometimes we like to invest to see how far they can go. It is as simple as that.”

“Hm, well, thank you. I fear this will likely serve me more frequently than one would like.”

“I have no doubt it will. But perhaps it will help you choose a suitable group of advisors so that you can relax. It's barely been six months and if I may be so bold, you look run ragged already. I would see you become a force of nature to be reckoned with, instead of a shell."

“Perhaps.”

“I bid you a good night, your Majesty. I should go before my absence is noticed. I look forward to seeing you again one day.” And though Tissaia curtsies out of respect, the Queen of Cintra doesn't feel one bit like she is stationed above the woman before her.

And then the Arch-mistress is gone, not to be seen by her again for not one, but two entire decades.


	2. Chapter 2

The Queen uses Tissaia’s gift and rips through the nobility, revamping her whole system. She finds a council that helps her thrive. Oh, some of them are still conniving little rats, but they’re smart and able and for the most part, all talk and no bite. Her people go from questioning her rule to singing her praises. She leaves with her armies on a regular basis and comes back a war hero before her sixteenth name day. The Lioness of Cintra. _A force to be reckoned with._

Fall is approaching when Calanthe slouches at the head of her banquet table. She takes a swig of her drink and watches the nobility shout and make general asses of themselves. The fifth anniversary of Roegner’s death is approaching swiftly, Pavetta is almost old enough to marry, _Pavetta is also a teenager and thus impossible to talk to_ , and it seems like every five minutes some man-child is asking for her own hand. Calanthe is so _tired_ of people that she’s ready to hole herself up for an entire month and speak to no one.

And this is before she even adds in taxes, skirmishes, assassinations and court politics. But this is all mundane crap she’s put up with since day one. She knows she is too soft on her daughter. She knows if she were to die tomorrow and leave her on the throne like her father did to her, Pavetta would fold. Almost like she did, she muses, and she had been trained for the throne from the time she could walk. But Calanthe still doesn’t want her daughter to put up with the ugly side of kingdom affairs – not yet, not so young - so it’s hard to convince herself to force her daughter into toughening up.

The coin that the Arch-mistress gave her almost twenty years ago slips and rolls between her fingers. It has served her well and she laments that she never had the chance to speak or thank the woman since. Stregobor has returned to her more than once, sometimes with a young man that he thinks will convince her. Other members of the Chapter have shown up as well. But Tissaia never comes, and so she continues to send them away – often times before they even get to her receiving hall.

 _Curse her line for frequently dying young_ , she thinks. She takes another two, long gulps, and her eyes search for Eist. She knows he is taking care of other matters, but it doesn’t stop her from looking around – as if he may have shown up as a surprise. _At least the fool makes her laugh._

Eist is one of three who is persistent in asking for her hand. She’d like to say yes, but she hesitates. He’s handsome, funny, fights like a bear, and is a _smart_ choice. But even though she loved Roegner, she didn’t care to answer to him. Didn’t care to share her throne. Cintra is hers, and hers alone. She is the one that has bled, sweat, and cried over it.

So every time that Eist asks to marry her, she tells him no. He smiles and kisses the back of her hand, and like clockwork, he makes a special trip to ask again in six months, as though she hasn’t denied him already. Sometimes she considers taking him to her bed, but she’s worried she will wake a remarried woman. There are few others she would trust in between her sheets at this point, so it feels like a very long time that she's been taking care of her own needs.

Calanthe finally decides she’ll go for a raid. Yes, that will do. She hears there is a particularly nasty behemoth up near the southern border of Brugge. There’s even a reward. It will do splendidly.

It’s the next morning when she promptly leaves her finance minister in charge. She stops by Pavetta’s room to make sure she doesn’t want to come along. “Of course I don’t, I’m not you,” she snaps. “I don’t need to hunt innocent creatures and start pointless wars to make myself feel better!” Calanthe closes the door while her daughter is in mid-sentence. She’ll mull over what to do with her later – maybe when she returns. It doesn't stop her from rolling her eyes in exasperation.

She takes off by mid-morning with a small entourage of a half-dozen knights. They’re setting up on the second day, when the most peculiar thing happens. They come across a travelling group that is tracking the same creature. There’s another band of knights from Brugge, led by the Captain of their Guard. Then there are two mages – one young male that doesn’t look a day over twenty, and one woman that she would recognize anywhere.

Tissaia de Vries hasn’t aged a day. The two of them stare at each other, and Calanthe can’t help but admit the other woman’s regal beauty does something to her now that is entirely different than what it did twenty years prior. Her eyes are a brilliant blue that sees right through her, her hair and travelling dress are pristine and perfect. For a moment she doesn’t move or speak because time is frozen. And then it resumes and she blinks and purposefully moves so that the woman is out of her line of sight.

The group is loud and rambunctious well into the night. They persuade the youngest mage to drink himself into a stupor, and she watches the poor thing become more and more unseemly as the night goes on. She partakes in the festivities until their attentions turn a bit lewd. Normally she sticks around and chimes in, but tonight she dismisses herself and moves to where the Arch-mistress is watching nearby.

“It’s been a long time,” Calanthe finally says, offering her a mug of ale. The sorceress accepts it, surprisingly, and the Lioness of Cintra takes a minute to study her. “Well, maybe not for you. I, on the other hand, was a child last we met.”

“And now you’re not. Well into your third decade, even. And you’ve done well from what I hear.” Calanthe barks out a laugh and sits down next to her. She’s pleased that the sorceress doesn’t seem stiff or unwelcoming of her presence.

“Yet here I am at the end of my life expectancy already.”

“And out recklessly hunting behemoths.”

“Ah, an escape from my mortal problems.” She sighs dramatically. “A sassy child, unruly peasants, unfulfilled sexual desires. The usual. Stabbing something with the pointy end of the sword seems to help.” The sorceress chokes into her drink, even though she tries to hide it, and Calanthe smirks. So not infallible, then. “You train girls at Aretuza, if I’m not wrong?” She presses, and leans closer to Tissaia. She enjoys how the woman shudders involuntarily as her breath brushes over her ear. “If you do not suffer from the same ailments, tell me. And if so, then tell me if I am too old to become a sorceress, because I grow wary of these continuing, mortal predicaments.”

Tissaia says nothing, but her head turns towards Calanthe and her eyes narrow. Though her expression remains neutral, the way her eyes travel over the rest of the Queen, betrays her. But then the moment is broken because there’s an uproar as one of her knights have tricked the young male into a fist fight, and though her crew is laughing, the poor boy is swinging and swearing like he’s trying to take someone’s head.

“ _Children_ ,” she growls, and shoots an apologetic look to the sorceress before leaving. What she doesn’t see is the amused smile that graces Tissaia’s lips as she watches Calanthe downright heave her stein at the two men, shouting obscenities and throwing herself into the fray. The Lioness of Cintra, though not magical in the slightest, is entirely made of chaos and fury and righteousness, and though she'll never admit it, something in the Rectoress finds it incredibly alluring. 

* * *

“You! Take the left, and you over there, take the right! I’ll approach from behind!”

“Is there anything I can do?” The young mage is unsure of his role, and it makes Calanthe roll her eyes. No wonder the Arch-mistress had to come along, though why it was her, and not that ridiculous man who should have been his mentor instead, is unknown to her. Tissaia drags him back and starts muttering orders to him, and she is thankful that the magical side of things seem to improve significantly.

The behemoth throws two of her guards a good twenty paces back. The one struggles to move, but seems to be okay. Calanthe thinks the other won’t be getting up. That’s three dead so far. She swears. She was quite fond of them.

A paw, massive and gnarled, comes far too close to her face for her liking. It likely would have landed if it wasn’t for the burst of ice that splinters against the side of its body. The behemoth roars and spins around, its tail almost landing across her knees, but she dodges just in time. The diversion is enough to get her where she needs to be. With a fevered cry, she throws herself under the beast and buries her sword hilt-deep into its chest. And then she scrambles out, because it bucks once, twice, and then lands against the ground with furious roar. She grabs a sword from one of the fallen knights, and takes no time to approach again. Two of the Brugge knights are swinging at it, and it is twisting back, mouth frothing and fangs snapping. In between the thrashing, Calanthe raises the sword and drives it through its skull, taking the kill. The behemoth finally falls limp and dies. The Lioness of Cintra now has time to let that exhilaration that comes with victory wash over her. Her heart is beating, her adrenaline is pumping, and she wants to scream with pleasure at the victory.

She makes the mistake of looking up at the Arch-mistress. Her frustration with her people and her daughter may be temporarily solved, but her other problem is not. And as she looks at the sorceress, it roars to life and she realizes that she could, without a care, march right over and take what she wants, onlookers be damned.

And make no mistake - _she wants_.

She wants so badly she can barely control herself, and she knows she is not controlling her face. A few of her knights are already looking back and forth, questioning, so she does the reasonable thing and stalks off. She shouts at everyone else that she will be back in a bit, and to clean the blood and guts off themselves somewhere far, far away from her.

She marches west for a good ten minutes until she finds the small waterfall she had seen on the way. She unbuckles and tugs and leaves her armour in a strewn line behind her. She needs a stiff drink, she thinks, as she practically throws herself into the small pond.

The coolness hits her immediately, and she is thankful for the reprieve. Blood and dirt come off her in rivulets, and what doesn’t, she scrubs at until she feels raw. She wades underneath the waterfall and pulls her hair loose. Calanthe runs her fingers through it. Its so cold that it steals her breath away, and she feels herself taking small, forced puffs of air until she can’t take it anymore. She emerges and her eyes fall on the last person she wants to see right now. The Arch-mistress is standing, leaning against a tree.

_Fuck._

“What are you doing here?”

“Kings and Queens can’t just go gallivanting off on their own. I told them I would come and guard you. Your knights seemed a little hesitant, but they’ve agreed to build camp and clean up the bodies until we return.” Calanthe stands up and the water comes to her waist. It leaves everything higher on display, but she could care less.

“Was this your plan all along? You realized I wouldn’t fold to a young man with no title, so you took it on yourself to do the job?”

“Hardly,” Tissaia says, dryly, and she looks thoroughly unimpressed at the idea.

“I won’t accept a mage. Ever. Not even you.”

“I’d be disappointed if you did.” Tissaia’s eyes finally drop from her face and travel over Calanthe, and Calanthe, too proud to cower at being looked at, straightens her shoulders and tilts her head.

“Well? Are you going to bathe or just stare at my tits all afternoon?”

“It looks cold,” Tissaia murmurs, unaffected by the Queen's sharp tongue. Her hand travels up to rest at the neck of her dress. She isn’t moving, isn’t undressing, but it’s not a no. Whatever stoic persona this person has cultivated is crumbling. Calanthe is watching, and she loves every moment of it.

“It won’t be,” she answers, and her voice has a slight roughness to it. When Tissaia’s eyes meet hers again, the Queen draws her bottom lip in between her teeth and waits. And then Tissaia's hand moves, and her dress is being unbuttoned. Calanthe sinks down until the water is just above her chin. She watches as it’s peeled back, and the Arch-mistress steps out of it. She is pale – beautifully so. Where Calanthe has been kissed by the sun, this woman has been embraced by the moon. She is smooth and petite and everything curves in all of the right places.

And then Tissaia is stepping into the water. Calanthe comes up to offer her a hand. The moment that she slides her hand into Calanthe’s, the Queen tugs her towards her, and the two of them are pressed up against each other. The sun is blissfully warm against her skin, but it’s not as delightful as the Rectoress.

Tissaia’s breath comes up short – partially due to the shock of the water temperature, partially due to the arousal that is washing over her in waves. Calanthe brushes the fingers of her spare hand over Tissaia’s cheek and travels them down over her chin. She uses a finger to tilt the sorceress’ head up to her.

Then she kisses her.

There is a throbbing between her legs that only grows, and it sparks through her entire being when Tissaia’s fingers curl through her hair. Calanthe needs more. She pulls Tissaia towards the small falls, and the sorceress gives a sharp gasp at how cold it is while it pounds against their heads and shoulders. They're through in a moment though, and Calanthe has her up against a ledge – smooth and accommodating. The falls must have hit this area for years before something shifted. When she saw it earlier, she hadn’t even dared to daydream about this. She releases Tissaia and nips and sucks her way down the other woman’s neck. She’s rewarded by a small, breathy sigh of pleasure as her hands come up to cup her breasts, rolling each nipple with her thumbs.

Tissaia makes a sound of displeasure when Calanthe pulls away. The Queen bends and wraps the sorceress' legs around her, and then lifts her onto the ledge she’s been pressed against.

“I’m want to find out if your cunt tastes as good as your mouth does,” she explains. “Is that okay?” Tissaia takes a sharp breath in, then nods and leans back. Calanthe hooks her arms under Tissaia’s thighs and supports her, as her mouth descends. She runs her tongue up her inner thigh, and then across her folds and slit until she’s squirming. 

“Damn it, Calanthe. Fuck me before I change my mind.” And the Lioness of Cinta laughs against her and hums in delight. As a reward for her outburst, she buries her face and drags her tongue roughly up Tissaia, circling her clit and sucking until she gets another reaction. A hand grabs her head and holds her from going anywhere – not that she is, because frankly this is better than she imagined, and the way she pushes herself against Calanthe’s mouth is just downright sinful.

Tissaia is a quiet lover. Calanthe can feel her reaction more than she can hear it – though she _is_ being partially drowned out by a waterfall. She can hear a series of small moans that escape her the closer she comes to release. Calanthe's tongue presses against her opening, forcing itself in just a bit, out, and then in again, and there is a cry from above as her body seizes. As Tissaia is coming down from her orgasm, Calanthe continues to draw her tongue in lazy circles.

When Tissaia’s legs stop quivering against her, Calanthe moves one of her arms so that her hand brushes against the sorceress. She pushes Tissaia’s folds apart and there is another thrust of her hips as Calanthe's tongue retraces its previous path.

She pushes a finger in, draws it out and adds another. She loves how Tissaia starts to move in time with her, desperate for the second orgasm that is already building. Calanthe buries them as far as they will go, hooks them against a particularly sensitive spot, then maneuvers her thumb to press her clit and roll it circles. She revels in the whimper that escapes the woman, and the way she grabs at the Queen’s shoulders and digs her nails in is absolutely exquisite.

Calanthe drags her teeth down Tissaia’s thigh and suckles hard enough to leave a mark. Even though they will never be anything – _cannot be anything_ \- in this moment she is hers and hers alone. And as the Rectoress falls all over again, her legs are gently pulled from her shoulders and Calanthe stands, leaning her head into the nook of Tissaia’s neck until the woman’s head falls forward and her walls release her fingers.

Tissaia cups Calanthe’s face and kisses her, hard. And then she is reaching down and twisting the younger woman's nipples until she cries out against her mouth.

“Tell me you don’t have anywhere to be for the next week,” Calanthe mutters, and it sounds close to begging, but she doesn't care. “Tell me I can fuck you until I learn what makes you scream, and until neither one of us can walk. _Please_.” And the sorceress makes a noise - something between a content sigh and a laugh.

“Not a week,” she says. “But I suppose I can spare a few days.” And there is a growl of delight as Tissaia rakes her nails along Calanthe’s back, and wraps her legs around the woman. "Now less talking - let's see if I can make you scream before we go back to camp."

* * *

 **A/N:** WORKED REALLY HARD TO GET SMUT OUT TONIGHT, haha. There is one more chapter which will be done this weekend! Love reviews, so if you've enjoyed reading this, I always appreciate the shout out!


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